Game, Set, Match
by Neela4232
Summary: Dark powers arise in Underland, plotting to dethrone the White Queen. The Champion is again called forth to save her childhood escape. Is it the Red queen, or worse? Will Underland fall to the rule of darkness? We know not. For now, let the games begin!
1. Prolouge: Let the Games Begin

Underland had changed. Alice Kingsley, Champion of Underland and Protector of the White Queen, had made sure of that. After her defeat of the Jabberwocky, the world seemed right again. Underland's flowers had bloomed, the sun had come out. The sky was blue again. Horse flies and dragon flies lived in harmony. Trees grew straight and proud-no longer twisted, bent, or foreboding. The White Queen ruled with a fair hand, one forbidden to harm any living creature. Her rule healed Underland of it's old wounds, sealing crevices where evil crept out and treating all citizens with loving care.

Alice herself was living happily, sailing the seas. She was finally a free woman. Nineteen and expanding trade routes to China, she was living a dream.

Dreams. Still a sore subject with Alice. She had not forgotten Underland. Every night, she dreamed of the prospering land, seeing her friends have tea and laugh. She missed them, and every night she tried to tell them this. She never got the time. Alice would walk toward them all-except one-to speak, and she woke up.

The Red Queen, still in banishment, had accepted her fate. She had forgiven Stayne after he apologized profusely for their little "Spat." Stayne himself was calmer and wiser. Both had changed with along with the land.

And the Hatter. Tarrant Hightopp was perfect. He had never been better. His land was flourishing, his Queen was well and loved by her subjects, and nothing threatened his absolutely normal life.

Except her.

He missed her. He needed her. Without her, his life was disgustingly, incredibly, plainly ordinary. Without her, he was nothing. No adventure, no stories, no madness.

No muchness.

Yes, Underland had certainly changed. It had been years in the Underland, one in the Upper world, and things had gone well.

But all good things must come to and end.

Underland was a place of games, fair and unfair. The Queen of Hearts. The White Queen. There are many games and enemies in Underland; many plots to dethrone the White Queen. This game has more players.

Our manxome foe has yet to reveal himself, but we wonder where our heroes shall fit in during this game.

Alice, perhaps, as a knight? A bishop? A queen?

The Hatter, a rook? Mayhap a king?

What of our other friends? Will they take up their noble positions alongside our heroes, or will they all discover the worst truth?

Are they pawns?

We know not. That is for The Game Maker to decide. For now…

The trap is set, the enemy is prepared, and our friends are about to reunite. The Game Maker sits back. It is in motion.

Let the Games begin.


	2. Refusal

Alice Kingsleigh was busy.

She was trying to keep calm during a crisis.

"This could stop it all! All the work for nothing! Every carefully thought out decision wasted! All your good connections severed! We will be ruined, with nothing left but the clothes on our backs!" Madame LaRue practically shouted. The elderly woman fell back into her chair, running a hand through her grey/brown hair. She sounded close to tears.

Deciding which fabric to buy did that to a person.

"Nanny, calm down." Alice said. "We shall buy the satin from Thailand and trade it in England. Thailand needs machinery, they will accept our offers."

"Alice, dear, how can you be so sure? What if-"

"Nanny, I can't be sure, it's a fact of life. I just have to make the decision." Alice spoke firmly, not leaving any room for doubt. She was nearly an adult, she was allowed to make up her mind about something.

"But-" began Madame LaRue again.

"Madame, we will never get any work done if we meltdown about fabric! We have to get this business from Asia, and Thailand has prospering trade ports. It has been decided."

"Very well, dear, if you say, but I still believe you are to young to be making these decisions. I shall tell them you wish to continue. In the meantime, please change your dress and come downstairs. Stephan has asked for permission to call on you tonight." the elderly nanny said, sighing.

"Madame LaRue! You accepted on my behalf? You know I do not want to encourage these suitors, especially Stephan!" Alice's voice rose an octave as she whipped her head, and blond curls, toward the old nanny.

"I don't see why, all these men are so nice! Stephan brings you flowers, chocolate, dresses, jewelry, everything! Then there was Richard, who was absolutely adorable! He definitely loved you…"

Alice shook her head and ignored her nanny's lecture about suitors. It was true, she had many, but she did not want any. Their sugared words, poetry, and dead flowers sickened her. They did not love her, some did not even find her attractive! They all just wanted to inherit her prospering company!

Her mother and Nanny, however, encouraged these men whenever they could- supposedly "making up" for Alice's lack of enthusiasm. Nineteen and not married? To her nanny, it was a horror unlike any other. To Alice it was freedom. She wanted adventure, not to be trapped with a man who thought of her as a glass doll. She didn't want to get married, it made her feel…old. She wanted to stay young and have fun, not grow old and be in charge of a household!

If she got old, her friends might call her the wrong Alice again! Or worse, they'd find a new Alice. She couldn't bear the thought of her friends forgetting her or finding a replacement for her! The thought of another Alice with her friends, especially one hatter in particular, made her boil in envy. What if they needed help? Would they call her or call for a different Alice, a younger, funnier, braver Alice?

What would they say if they saw her now? Would they be impressed? Disappointed?

Probably not. Mallymkun would scold her for not having the courage to face her suitors. The March Hare would complain about her dreadful attempts at cooking and throw her china across the room for the lack of salt in her soup. Nivens McTwisp would chide her about how late she always was to meals and meetings-also complimenting her on her table manners- and Bayard would bark happily and introduce his wife, pups, uncles, and aunts. Chessur would chase her around, knocking things off shelves, and beg her to scratch his ears. The White Queen would flutter her hands and gracefully step to and fro, trying to heal all illnesses in her sight, even though England had no horse-fly urine.

What of her enemies? What would they think of her? Alice Kingsleigh, Champion of the White Queen, Slayer of the Jabberwocky, a company owner? They would laugh themselves to death.

And her thoughts strayed, painfully, to the Hatter. Tarrant Hightopp would say that she had lost her muchness. Lost it so far that she had no hope of getting it back. But he would also promise to go to the end of Underland to find it for her. The gentlemen; the brutally, sweetly, madly honest gentleman. She missed him. Everyday at tea-time, she missed him. The tea in England was nothing to the marvelous tea in Underland. There was no singing, no dancing, no throwing tea, and no riddles.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" he would ask her, his hat perched sideways on his unruly orange curls. His face would split into a large, pink smile as he watched her try to come up with an answer. The Mad Hatter was famous for his riddles, after all. It seemed only fair that she got one, too, but she was shocked when he did not know the answer. Tarrant had changed her life in Underland; it seemed only fair that she should answer the riddle for him and end his ponderings about the question. She had searched and searched for the answer in Underland, but found none. She had pondered this riddle during long voyages at sea, before she slept, and whenever things just got to…normal.

Alice, in the months that had followed her leave from Underland, had tried and tried to go back and visit. After each fruitless attempt at going back, she became more and more convinced that answering the riddle was the key to returning. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe the citizens of Underland had given her an unsolvable riddle in hope that she wouldn't come back?

No.

They wouldn't do that. They loved her, or so she liked to think. She wanted them to love her; to want her to visit. She wanted them to see that they were right in believing that she was the one, the right, the _only_ Alice for them. It was selfish, she new it, but she wanted them to be in _her _world. She wanted them to be _her _friends. She wanted the world to only be open to her. Answering the riddle was a part of_ her _game.

And by failing, she felt as though she was letting them down. She was losing them, she could feel it.

But Alice Kingsleigh didn't lose. It was against her nature.

"Alice! Come down from whatever dream world your in and pay attention! Now, I was asking you if you would please try to be talkative when Stephan came tonight? His family is coming to dinner, and I want you to act like the proper young lady you are!"

Alice blinked. "Yes Nanny." she said automatically.

"Alice, how many times have I told you, I am no longer your nanny! I am merely your chaperone." Madame said.

"Very well, Nanny." Alice said as she stood up from her chair and went to her closet. A plan was forming in her mind.

Alice Kingsleigh didn't lose. Not even to her friends.

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Tarrant supposed he deserved it. Chasing someone around the castle and threatening to cut off his head was bad, but the cat didn't have to throw his hat into the moat!

Chessur and the Tarrant were going at it again, and the whole of the castle knew it. The Mad Hatter and March Hare had been planning to leave Mamoreal and go back home-the Hatter secretly felt tired of all his friends. The world around him was just to bright, radiant, beautiful. Like her. It seemed like a joke to him, that the world could still be beautiful when she wasn't here. She was gone. There was no adventure, no fun, no singing, no dancing, no nothing. The palace held to many memories of her.

So he had to leave. When Chessur found out, he stole every hat Tarrant had made and threw them in the moat. Tarrant supposed Chessur was going to be lonely, or that he just wanted to get a reaction, _any_ reaction, out of him.

Truth be told, he wasn't the same since she left. He seemed to have faded. He was, buy no means, drab and colorless, but his suits were more frayed. His hair more flat, his smile a little more forced.

He missed her dearly. When he offered for her to stay, it wasn't an offer at all. It wasn't a request.

But she still refused.


End file.
